The Snow Angel

The woman in the picture was so young she looked like a child. Her hair was loose, eyes wide, blue T-shirt stark against the pale lines of arching collarbones. I felt the air leave me in a quiet rush. Not because of the way the photo captured her fleeting youth, but because of the way it highlighted the bruise.It was a photo of me.Rachel Price has just one happy memory from her childhood: the moment her father took her hands while playing outside on a cold, snowy day and called her his angel. It was a rare and sacred moment in her young life, one in which she finally felt safe, loved, and protected.But it didn’t last long.Years later, Rachel’s daughter is the only light in what has become a dark life. Rachel repeats the patterns she learned as a child and exposes her own daughter to those same destructive behaviors.